


we are finally cowboys

by etoilette



Series: Kinktober 2020 [29]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Attends Shujin Academy, Cock Rings, Dry Orgasm, F/M, Female Akechi Goro, Femdom, Light BDSM, Orgasm Denial, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilette/pseuds/etoilette
Summary: Day #29 of Kinktober: Sex Toys"Nice hair, Akechi-senpai," he says. It's a genuine compliment but Akechi shoots him a glare for that. As if Akira would ever be anything less than sincere when it comes to praising Akechi for her looks.It's not as if Akira's a shallow person, but it's hard to compliment the personality of a person who would attach two vibrators to his dick and force him to sit through two hours of classes.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Kinktober 2020 [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949695
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	we are finally cowboys

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of [pleather for breakfast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833993) from earlier this month. I interchanged the Kinktober prompt days a little bit and won't write anything tomorrow because I've woven in praise kink here and in the last day's. 
> 
> To also continue from the theme of the previous work, the title is a reference to No More Heroes's [We Are Finally Cowboys.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FISXJNCcLM0) Though the fic absolutely does not match with the lyrics, please do me a favour and listen to NMH [Philistine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKUqZrSlapc) because it slaps. Maybe I'll write femkechi/femkira one day just to use Philistine in the title, who knows.

The fifth time Akira lets out a shaky breath and slams his forehead down against his desk, Hiruta practically begs him to excuse himself to the nurse's office. Akira had turned down all of the teacher's gentle suggestions earlier but at this point, even the students are giving him worried looks, as if he's on his deathbed.

"I'll make sure you get all the notes," Mishima says encouragingly, raising his pencil like it's a torch.

"Thanks, Mishima," Akira replies. He makes sure he doesn't stagger too close to Mishima as he hobbles out of the classroom but even from a distance, he can see that Mishima's notebook is essentially blank.

Ann's notes are practically illegible with how many doodles and colours she likes to decorate her book with, but at the very least she copies things down in class. He makes a mental note to treat her to some crepes after school so he can at least get the gist of what was happening in this horrible biology class before he heads off, as best as he can, to his own private lesson.

The hallways are empty — of course they are, considering most of the teachers and students are supposed to be in class at the moment — but Akira refuses to let down his guard. It's not as if the classroom had been _loud_ or anything, but the soft scratches of pencil on paper and Hiruta's droning had been enough to drown out the faint buzzing coming from Akira's pants. In the sudden silence of the hall, the noise is amplified until it's all Akira can hear.

As fast as he can, he stumbles to the student council room, where he hopes against hope that _she'll_ be there.

"I'll make an excuse and stay in the student council room the entire time," Akechi had said, when they first discussed this the other day. "Don't worry. If you need to tap out, I'll be there for you. I promise."

But it's not the first time that Akechi promised Akira something, or told Akira not to worry about something, only to do the exact opposite.

By the time he sees the innocuous "Student Council Room" sign, his pants are so wet that the faint squelching can be heard with every step he takes. He places his hand on the handle, takes a deep breath, and slides it open.

"I'm coming in," he says, but it's quiet and jerky at best. If he was in a sports club, he might have been punished or yelled at for that weak display.

Thankfully, not only is Akechi not in a sports club, she also kept her word.

"You held out for much longer than I thought you would, Kurusu-kun," Akechi says.

She's sitting at the head of the table, her legs crossed, working through the piles of paperwork in front of her. Her hair is tied in a low ponytail, no doubt because it had started falling in her face. The one thing missing from her usual 'studious vice president' get-up is her glasses, no doubt tucked away in a case somewhere in her bag.

"Nice hair, Akechi-senpai," he says. It's a genuine compliment but Akechi shoots him a glare for that. As if Akira would ever be anything less than sincere when it comes to praising Akechi for her looks.

It's not as if Akira's a shallow person, but it's hard to compliment the personality of a person who would attach two vibrators to his dick and force him to sit through two hours of classes.

"Thank you, Kurusu-kun," Akechi smiles, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with one hand and placing her other hand into her pocket.

The soft buzzing of the vibrator taped to the glans of his dick suddenly starts to vibrate harder, so strong that he can see it moving from underneath his pants. He grunts and would have fallen to the ground had he not reached out at the last second to catch himself against the wall. The other one, taped on the underside of his dick maintains the steady and gentle rhythm of earlier. The contrast between the two has him squirming pathetically, his hand reaching down and clutching at his wet cock through his pants as if that could stop the toys. If anything, the pressure of his hand only makes the sensations even stronger as he forces the vibrators closer to his penis.

"A-Akechi-senpai," he grits out from behind clenched teeth, but he can't say anymore. Can't loosen his jaw to form more words. It's like his muscles are locked in place, no matter how much he tries to will himself to speak. But even if he could, all of his words would morph into cries and moans of ecstasy. The pleasure searing through his body is so great that he would have come all over himself nine times over by now if Akechi hadn't placed the cock ring on him.

Akechi doesn't grace him with an answer. From behind the harsh pounding of his heart and his own ragged panting, he can hear the rustling of paper as Akechi cleans up her paperwork. He doesn't know if she's taking her time on purpose, or if time is slowing down for _him_ in particular. It feels like a miniature eternity before he sees Akechi's shoes appear in his line of sight as she stands right over him, looking down on the top of Akira's sweaty head.

He hears a _click_ and both vibrators screech to a halt. The sudden absence of any sensation leaves Akira feeling bereft and an embarrassingly high-pitched whine escapes him as his hips thrust, rubbing himself against the ground.

The pleasure had been torturous and yet, it's the thing that he wants the most right now. He would do anything to have the maddening vibrations on his dick once more, pushing him to heights he had never been able to reach before. Heights that he would never have even thought about before Akechi.

Akechi who is crouching down now, staring into Akira's face as if it's the most interesting thing she's seen all day, her glossed lips tilted in a faint smile.

"Strip," she commands.

Before he can even consciously think about it, Akira's hands shoot to his zipper, fumbling with it as tremors run through his body. As soon as his cock is free from its confines, it practically springs out, dripping and leaking all over the floor.

It's grotesque, even in Akira's humble opinion. It's so pressured from the cock ring that it's more a purple-red than anything, and it's so swollen that he almost doesn't even recognize it as his own erection. It trembles even without the stimulation from the vibrators, as if it's straining to fill up _even more._

He would have angled himself away so Akechi wouldn't need to look at it, except Akechi reaches out with one perfectly manicured hand and holds him in place, rubbing circles into his knee with her thumb.

"I have something special prepared for you today, since you've been such a good boy for me," Akechi says, pulling away as she stands up.

Akira would vehemently deny it later, but he couldn't stifle the whimper at the sight of her leaving. She doesn't even give him a second glance as she moves to where her bag is, on the table against the wall by the door.

Before, Akira had been amazed by her ability to fit in pleather boots, folding them so neat that they are practically invisible, and yet never wrinkled. Now, he's always taken aback by the fact that she can fit a miniature armada of sex toys in there, either in hidden compartments sewn into the bag, or stuffed inside pouches that she pretends are for her make-up or food.

If Akechi were any other person, Akira might have suspected her of being an experienced thief or shoplifter. It's amazing just how creative she is when it comes to smuggling things around.

He doesn't know just how many toys she has at home, but every time they do this, she pulls out something new and different. Does she walk into the store herself, looking through the wares and comparing prices like a housewife trying to stretch out the grocery budget? Does she buy them online and have them delivered to her home, where she presumably lives with her family?

The questions only pile up the more Akira associates with Akechi, and the more the mystery grows, the more exciting it is.

Akira jolts and moans when he feels her long nails caress his oversensitive glans, the pleasure on the knife-thin edge of pain. She must have walked back towards him while he was preoccupied, her footsteps light and quiet without the heels of those boots that he had worshipped for months. They had let him know her exact location, even when he was addled out of his mind with pleasure, but the shoes she wears in the school are so soft that she sneaks up on him every time.

"You never take off your shirt when I ask you to strip," Akechi says, her tone and facial expression unreadable.

"I didn't think you were interested in seeing my body," Akira replies honestly. It's not as if he's a woman, with soft breasts to fondle and play with. It's not as if he's Ryuji, who's toned and muscular from his time on the track team and his hobby of working out.

He's just a lanky nerd. Nothing special.

"My order was to strip," Akechi says softly. She reaches out and slowly undoes the buttons of Akira's shirt, her hands lingering ever so slightly with each one. Her fingers are still wet from his pre-cum and he'll have to wash his shirt today unless he wants the faint stench of sex to waft from the fabric. "I didn't tell you to think about nonsense like that."

"'M sorry."

"Sorry what?"

"I'm sorry, mistress."

Akechi nods. There's no smile on her face, as if she hadn't expected anything less from Akira. When she works loose the last button, she pushes Akira's shirt off, tugging everything down until it's pooled behind him. But when Akira moves to extract his arms from the sleeves, Akechi holds him down.

Before Akira could question her, Akechi leans forward and ensnares his lips in a kiss. The sticky and somewhat bitter taste of her lip gloss is a perfect contrast to Akechi's natural sweetness, and Akira drinks everything down like a man dying of thirst. He welcomes Akechi's tongue into his mouth and tangles it with his own, exploring Akechi's own cavern while she prods at Akira's teeth and the roof of his mouth.

It's one of the most, dare he say, romantic kisses that Akira's ever received from her. He moans, and the sound is muffled by Akechi's answering sound. He tries to pull her into an embrace, but when he lifts his arm to do so, the sleeve of the half-stripped shirt keeps him from moving it as high as he wants.

Akechi pulls away after a last peck against the corner of Akira's mouth, and for a second, the two pause to catch their breath. Akechi's erratic panting brushes hotly against Akira, but he doesn't move away, inhaling as much as he can to hold onto every scrap of her that she's willing to give.

"What's the special reward that you've prepared for me?" Akira asks once he recovers his breath.

A smirk graces Akechi's lips as she reaches behind her and reveals a fluorescent pink double-sided dildo. She must have curled it up to fit inside her bag, because it's still slowly unbending itself, like an animal waking up from a nap. It's a modest size — not so big that Akira worries about tearing but not so small that Akira thinks he'll be bored. Not that he's ever felt anything other than languidly satisfied after his little meetings with Akechi.

"I didn't bring any lube with me," Akechi says with an exaggeratedly bright smile that just oozes of deception. "So you'll have to do your best unless you want this to hurt."

Before Akira could ask what she meant, she reaches into her breast pocket and he hears a soft click. The forgotten toys on his dick spring to life again, vibrating so hard that it feels like a jackhammer against his overheated head and shaft.

"A-ah!"

He winces, his hips moving in an aborted action, as if he wants to buck into the stimulation and shy away at the same time. Akechi nestles herself in between Akira's shaking thighs, keeping him steady with one hand on his knee, and places the toy against his erection.

She rubs the dildo leisurely against Akira's shaking cock, scooping up the pre leaking from the slit and lathering the plastic so that every inch of it is covered with the slick. It's so long that Akira has the inane worry that he'll become dehydrated if he's forced to lube up the entire thing but Akechi helps him to maximize the real estate, fisting the toy mechanically like she's washing cutlery in the sink. She doesn't stop until the dildo practically shines with Akira's fluids.

"You made my hand so dirty," Akechi says, a smirk on her face as she shows Akira the palm of her hand. Pre-cum sticks to it, dripping down her wrist, creating webs in between her fingers as she moves them teasingly. "What do you think you should do to make it up to me?"

Akira doesn't even have the presence of mind to argue that _Akechi_ was the one who willingly got her hands dirty. He simply opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, beckoning with it as best as he can. He must look pathetic, waving his tongue in the air like a dog, but Akechi giggles and moves her hand to his face. Akira wastes no time in lavishing it with heated strokes, getting in between each finger and licking up the knuckle, taking into his mouth as much of Akechi's hand as he can.

He can taste the salt of his own juices but underneath it, on the soft surface of Akechi's skin, he can catch the faint sweetness of _her_ , and he chases after it the best that he can, until it's the only thing that he can feel on his tongue.

"Enough," Akechi says and she pulls her hand away.

Akira moans in acknowledgement but continues to chase after her with his mouth, desperate to taste her again, and Akechi holds him at bay easily. He braces himself for a punishment — she hates it when he's greedy — but Akechi merely wipes her hand off on his chest and angles the dildo between them.

"You better have lubed it up enough," Akechi warns, her voice breathless with excitement, and Akira watches, panting, as the dildo covered in his desperation sinks into Akechi's folds.

She shudders, arching her spine, throwing her head back, her hair falling into her face as she moans wantonly. One hand shakily moves from the dildo to her clit and she rubs at it frantically, trembling with pleasure as she pushes the toy further and further in.

"How do I look?" she gasps when about a third of it is inside. She reaches up and brushes her hair back away from her face, panting down at Akira with a self-satisfied grin.

It's the expression of someone who is beautiful and knows it, and Akira makes no effort in hiding the way he runs his eyes up and down Akechi appreciatively, committing to memory every bead of perspiration running down her neck and disappearing down the collar of her blouse. Every tremble her body makes as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Effervescent," he breathes, and she scoffs, even as her face flares pink.

"Shut up, you sound like such an idiot," she says, breaking character for a second. She nudges Akira's foot with her knee and Akira positions himself so that he's on his back.

"I learned the word f-from you, mistress," Akira replies, gasping when Akechi takes his legs and pushes them up, his knees around his ears. He's flexible, but not so much that he can bend his body in half without any stretching beforehand, and the hours he spent sitting in class certainly didn't help matters. Before he can get used to the strain in his muscles, Akechi starts her slow breach into Akira's opening.

She works the head of the toy inside minutely, rolling her hips to catch the dildo on every last fold of his rim, sending trickles of pleasure sparking up his spine to collect in his gut like butterflies. It's so different from the fast pace that she worked it into herself — the pace that he had thought she would use — and he can't help but move his hips against her, trying to push more of the toy inside.

Akechi freezes and she places one hand delicately against his hip to hold Akira still. "Did I say you could move, Kurusu-kun?" she asks softly.

The breath hitches in Akira's throat. He recognizes that tone as _danger,_ and with his body in such a precarious position, there's no telling what sort of schemes Akechi has up her sleeve.

"I'm sorry, mistress," he says quickly, hoping to diffuse her temper.

But Akechi's mouth simply twists in displeasure and she reaches with her free hand back into the breast pocket. The vibrations against his dick start up again, strong and fierce, and Akira arches his back, his teeth clicking as he writhes on the floor as the electrifying stimulation spark inside of him, like a chain reaction of chemicals.

And yet, Akechi still moves at a maddeningly slow pace, swirling her hips so that the toy has ample opportunity to explore every last inch of Akira's walls. She glides it in so careful that when her waist hits the backs of his thighs, he gasps in surprise at the unexpected sensation of being completely filled up.

She clicks the control and the vibrators calm down enough that the pleasure is at a low boil, and Akira breathes a sigh of relief. The respite allows him to relish in the searing weight of the toy deep inside of his body. **He can feel Akechi all around and inside of him, and she leans forward to suck a blossom against his inner high, nipping at the skin with her teeth until he thinks he bleeds.

"I'm so full with you, mistress," he says dazedly, and he opens his mouth in an invitation that Akechi accepts. When she leans forward towards him, she pushes the dildo even further inside, reaching a space that he never thought existed inside of him. He tries to scream to let out the sudden mind-blowing sensation in his gut, but Akechi swallows up the sound eagerly. Upon her tongue is the faintest hint of iron, and the bitterness makes Akira's breath come even faster.

Without warning, Akechi starts to move, fucking herself and Akira _hard_. Akira moans, loud and unrestrained, sure that Akechi will help to keep him quiet, and Akechi obliges, responding with her own whines of pleasure. It's rare that Akechi gets anywhere close to losing herself in these sessions, and Akira braves reaching up with his arms. With her so close to him, the bondage of the shirt has no bearing, and he doesn't hesitate to loop his arms around her neck and pull her close, deepening the kiss so that he can reach down her throat with his tongue.

The claiming bite that Akechi laid upon his thigh burns, and he allows his canine to nip against her lip, making his own mark.

Akechi reaches down with one hand to jerk his burning dick, but the intense overstimulation is less a punishment and more a reward. When Akira bucks up, he hears Akechi whine, feels Akechi tense up around him.

It's like he finally has the chance to fuck Akechi himself.

Akechi breaks the kiss, staring down into Akira's eyes. She's truly one of the most magnificent people that Akira's ever seen, even with sweat dripping down her face and a dot of blood welling up on her swollen lips. The smile on her face is unlike any other she's ever given him, and the delighted glow in her eyes makes her seem younger than her actual age.

"I'm so sorry," Akira babbles, angling his neck to bare his throat to her, impatient for the punishment she would give him for moving without permission and biting her. "I'm so sorry, mistress. Please punish me, I've been bad."

Instead of answering, Akechi adjusts the hand on her hip to hold him closer, raising him up onto her lap so she can slam down and deep with each thrust. The new angle means that each snap of her hips has her hitting his prostate with every pass and the unexpected surge of blinding sensations has him arching his back.

"A-ah! Mistress!" he screams, his voice embarrassingly high.

"You're doing so well, Kurusu-kun. Like you always do for me," Akechi croons, though he can barely make out the words over the constant stimulation barraging his senses.

The disgusting squelch of the dildo making its way in and out of them, his own harsh panting in his ear, the low buzz of the vibrators, the nonstop pleasure burrowing itself so deep into his mind that he doesn't think he'll ever be the same again...If Akechi isn't making a point of saying his name every single time she talks, he thinks he would have forgotten it by now.

"Thank you, mistress," he thinks he babbles.

"Now I'll give you your reward, Akira. Take it," Akechi says. The toys on his dick buzz stronger against the most sensitive parts of him, and he feels Akechi tighten her grip around his waist as she slams him closer against her, forcing the dildo so deep inside of him he practically feels it in his stomach.

"You're doing so well. You can do this, Akira."

Through the heated fog in his head, he feels her fingers tease the base of his dick, where the cock ring is nestled. Truth be told, he almost forgot about it, even though it's the reason why he hasn't been able to find a release from the searing pleasure-pain-pleasure roiling in his gut. It's as if he's been held back from the edge for so long that after a certain point, it just became _natural_ to him. As if he's been having dry orgasms his entire life.

What if Akechi lifts the ring now? All of the feverish passion boiling inside of him right now, mixed with the pleasure of release...What would happen to him? Fear thrums deep in his heart, and he shakes his head before he truly realizes he's doing so.

"W-wait," he manages. He tries to reach out a hand to push Akechi's hand away but the sleeve is in the way. He can't get enough strength in his legs to kick her away (and even if he could, what would happen then? What kind of punishment would Akechi dole upon his exhausted body if he was to do that?). "Mistress, please, I —"

"This is for you, Akira. Don't squander my charity," Akechi tsks and under any other circumstance, Akira might laugh at the language being used. As if Akechi is really some sort of queen from a faraway land, but any amusement is gone when he feels her undo the fastening and move the cock ring away.

He doesn't know if he's making any sound. He doesn't know if his heart is still beating. He stares, wide-eyed and unseeing, as his body jerks and spasms, arching his back as spurts of cum leak out of his abused dick. It's just waves of heat and tension coursing through him, and when the pleasure finally hits, it's a tsunami that drowns out all thought.

"You're doing a good job," he hears in his ear. The soft weight on his body makes him realize that Akechi had, some time ago, leaned down onto him, pushing him harder against the sticky floor of the student council room as she thrust herself onto the dildo, chasing after her own climax. "You look so good. Akira. Just let go."

The order is delivered in a softer tone than any that Akira's received during his time with Akechi, and in fact, this entire session, she's been oddly kind, even when he was provoking her on purpose. Was it his birthday? Or hers? Just what —

But before Akira's mind could wander any further, Akechi jolts his attention back to his present. She moans and throws her head back in ecstasy, blatant and unashamed, as she falls into her own climax. Her full weight is placed on the dildo as her muscles contract and relax, and it pushes the toy so deep into Akira that for a brief half-second he worries that he'll never get it out and they'll be stuck together forever.

But before he could entertain the fantasy further, she places a hand on Akira's dick and pumps it once, twice. Both times so hard that she rips the body-safe tape and tears the vibrators off of Akira's dick, digging her nails into the reddened shaft as she loses herself.

Akira doesn't realize when exactly he passed out, doesn't know if Akechi continued to milk his orgasm out from his unconscious body.

It's one of the best naps he's ever had in school.

* * *

"What class were you in?" Akechi asks. Her arms and legs are crossed, and her foot is tapping a rhythm that Akira doesn't recognize. She's sitting at the table again, where she had been when Akira first walked in, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. Only the musty stench of sex and semen remind Akira that he hadn't dreamed up the entire encounter with Akechi. "Was it Ushimaru-sensei? You could die in that classroom and he wouldn't blink an eye."

Akira huffs out a tired laugh, staring up at the ceiling of the student council room. Akechi cleaned him up as best as he could with a towel (a towel that she stuffed into a plastic bag and shoved into her pocket dimension of a school bag) but there's no sofa for him to rest on. The cold of the wood is a welcome balm on his overheated and sweaty body.

"I could have orgasmed right there in Ushimaru's class and he would have just went on about government or whatever."

"Ushimaru- _sensei_ ," Akechi says, but it sounds more like a reflex than an actual rebuke.

His cheek is pressed against the floor, far away from Akechi's line of sight, so Akira rolls his eyes. "It was Hiruta- _sensei's_."

"Ah, Hiruta-sensei. What were you learning about?"

"Something about crabs and not the sexy kind."

"Very funny," Akechi says, and there is such an obvious smile l in the tone of her voice that Akira can't help but laugh.

The question that had been on his mind during this session rears back, though. Akechi's nice, but has she always been this nice? This curious about Akira's time outside of the student council room? Come to think of it, it was strange that she would put the dirty towel, covered in Akira's disgusting sweat and cum and smell, inside of her own bag, even though she used to be so careful with the boots.

"Is today a special day?"

"Hm?"

Akira props himself up onto his elbows so he can look at her. She's still seated at the table, looking down at her nails in faux disinterest.

"You were really nice to me today. What did I do to earn the reward, mistress?"

It's the first time he's ever referred to Akechi as 'mistress' outside of their sessions, and he hears his heart start to pound faster at the name. As if he's Pavlov's dog, conditioned to enter heat whenever he acknowledges the power that Akechi wields over him.

Akechi shrugs. "I just felt like it."

Strange, but Akechi's always been fickle. Maybe she tried a new sweets shop or somehow got higher than perfect on the latest mock exam, and was just in a really good mood. Akira lays back down and tries not to think about it anymore, even as his mind races with possibilities and imaginary scenarios.

The next day, when Akira is walking down the hallway after handing some paperwork to Kawakami in the teacher's lounge, he passes by the student council room and notices a tattered leather notebook on the ground. He's not sure who it belongs to so he opens it up to a random page. The calendar for the month pops up — ah, so it's a schedule book? — and he immediately recognizes the small neat handwriting as Akechi's.

Despite knowing that he shouldn't, he can't help but flip through the notes. Exams are carefully written in with blue ink, and social outings are noted in black. He's surprised to realize that Akechi has friends outside of maybe the first-year Yoshizawa and, dare he say, himself.

But one date — yesterday — catches his eye for being written in red. '6 month anniversary with Akira' is written in, the characters squeezed into the small square. There aren't any hearts or drawings to indicate Akechi's emotional or mental state at the time of writing, but when he remembers the soft way she had looked at him yesterday..the gentle way she had brushed her fingers down his body and praised him...

He feels his face flush, hot and red, and he slams the book shut. He'll hand it off to Makoto and have Makoto give it to Akechi. Or maybe he'll grab Yoshizawa, since Yoshizawa seems to have taken a liking to him.

Yeah. That's what he'll do. He doesn't know if he can look Akechi in the eye right now, knowing that she had done all that to commemorate six months of being with someone like him. Knowing that she had lavished his body with so much affection and pleasure out of — what? Sentimentality? Even though Akechi herself scoffs whenever Akira tries to shower her with any sort of emotion?

"I didn't see anything," Akira mutters, though he doesn't know if he's trying to trick his cognition into forgetting it or practicing his excuse.

"What didn't you see?"

"I didn't see anything in Akechi-senpai's notebook."

"You didn't _what_?!"

Akira whirls around. When did someone get the drop on him? He needs to get his head in the game.

Akechi is standing there, a look of pure scandalized shock on her face. Without thinking, Akira hands her the notebook and she snatches it out of his hand, growling. "Are you _sure_ you didn't look inside, Kurusu-kun?" she hisses.

Akira nods dumbly. "Just the first page to see who it belongs to."

Akechi narrows her eyes suspiciously but after a moment, she nods. "Thank you for picking it up. I'll text you."

She turns and walks away but before she could get out of earshot, Akira calls out, "Happy anniversary, Akechi-senpai."

It's like watching a slow-motion movie. Akechi stops in the middle of the hallway, and she turns around so slowly that Akira can hear in his mind the dissonant violin strings that are present in almost every retro American B-horror. The surprise of earlier is gone, and she's replaced it with that faux cheer and a media-perfect smile.

"Kurusu-kun, did you —"

But before she could finish her sentence, Akira was off, running down the hall, ignoring Akechi's furious "Don't run in the hallways!" behind him. He hopes that no one can see how red he is, and how ugly his face looks as he tries to twist the unconscious smile spreading across his lips back into a poker face.

He has about 10,000 yen saved up from his part-time jobs and he pulls out his phone to type a text message to Ann, asking for her help in buying a gift "for my senpai at work." By his calculation, he probably owes her five crepes at this point, including the one he needs to give her for lending him her notes. He dutifully ignores the angry messages from Akechi popping onto the screen, demanding to know whether or not he looked inside the notebook.

Akira can't be certain what kind of face Akechi will show him tomorrow, when he hands her his own gift. He hopes that it's the kind of warm and genuine one that she showered him with yesterday.

**Author's Note:**

> Akechi can't celebrate the real anniversary with Akira because she'll have graduated and in her mind, it's ~not the same~ to celebrate school sex outside of school. Which is why she just split it in half and celebrated the six-month anniversary instead.


End file.
